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Book 1.3_X-5-5 

Copglit)J« „__ __llOi 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE 

SILVER CORD 



AND 



THE GOLDEN BOWL 




THE 

Hbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 
114 
FIFTH AVENUE 

XonDon NEW YORK /iBontreal 



I THE LIBRARY ©Fl 
«0^' CRESS, I 
Two CK>i^e» Received I 



THE LIBRARY ©F 

«0^' CRESS, 
Two CK>i^e» Received 

JAN. 25 1902 

CLASS A^ XXa No. 

-2- a z^i^ 

COPY a 



TS3.r3J 

•T-37 S:r 



Copyright, iqor, 

by 

THE 



ec » <*«(ccc 



TO 

fatf^tt antJ 0itxtf^tt 

AND TO THE 
MEMORIES OF YOUTH 

THIS 
VOLUME IS INSCRIBED. 



Of the universal mind each individual man is one 
more incarnation. 

Emerson. 

For out of the old fieldes, as men saithe, 
Cometh al this new corne fro yere to yere ; 

Chaucer. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Clear Shining After Rain 11 

Sonnet : On Browning's *' Saul " 13 

Blind Eyes 14 

Anointed 16 

The Way of Life : An Allegory 17 

On Gloucester Shores: 

By Summer Seas 27 

By Winter Seas 28 

Love — Human and Divine: 

New Worlds 30 

Revelation 32 

Peace at Evening 33 

God, the Poet 34 

Sonnet : To My Mother , 35 

But When 

Three Sonnets on Life 37 

The Unattainable 40 

A Woman's Reasoning 41 

7 



8 Contents. 

PAGE 

A Woman's Tears 42 

Victoria Kegina 45 

Decoration Day, 1900 47 

A Sea View 51 

Unsatisfied 52 

" He Being Dead, Yet Speaketh " 54 

Easter Hymn 55 

Friends Passed Away 57 

By the " Deep Pool " of My Childhood 58 

Three Quatrains on Poetry 59 

Easter Morning 60 

Revelation 63 

Through all the Way 64 

Songs of Chivalry : 

My Lady at Her Casement High 65 

The Gardener at His Mistress' Gate 68 

At Her Evening Prayers 71 

January, 1901 72 

Winter Twilight 73 

Winds of March 74 

Beyond the Sunset 75 

Victory 76 

Two-Score Years and Ten 77 

'Mong Shadows Deep : Rondeau 78 

Malachi xi. 3 79 

Like to Some Storm-Belated Bird. . . o 80 

The Vision 88 



Contents. 9 



FAGB 



Poems of Early Youth 83 

Answer Song of Spirits 84 

April 87 

After Dark 88 

April : Upon the Bridge that Spans the Conewango. 89 

Invocation 9q 

Summer Evening , _ 92 

Induction to an Antique "Wedding Song 93 

Two Sonnets : 

A Thought 95 

When I shall Die 97 

Two Youthful Songs : 

Lover's Song 98 

Arcadian Shepherd's Love Song 100 

Indian Summer 103 

An October Night 104 

Harvest Time 106 

Harvest Done 107 

Trees and Men 108 

Silhouettes : 

Walking Village ward at Evening 109 

Where Winter Silence Reigns Ill 

Song 112 

Christmas Carol 113 

Fragments of Early Verse 116 

To the Lady Una 117 

To 118 



10 Contents. 

PAGE 

An Imitation 119 

Two Poems Written for the Old School— 
Chmriberlain. 

Class Song— 1891 120 

Two-Score Years 122 

Songs and Sonnets to the Seasons. 

To Chloris (Spring) 130 

The Violet 131 

The Dandelion 132 

To the First-Blown King-Cup 133 

To Summer— July 134 

To the Wild Strawberry 135 

Summer Rain 137 

Haying Time 138 

To Autumn — Ceres 139 

September 140 

To the Swallow (Progne) 141 

Thistledown 142 

To Winter. 143 

November 144 

The First Snowfall 145 

December 146 

The Flowers are Dead, but They Will Live 

Again 147 



THE SILVER CORD AND THE 
GOLDEN BOWL. 



Clear Sbtntng Hfter tRain. 

Across the silent purple hills, 
Thro' cloud}^ rifts of amethyst, 

The setting sunlight softly thrills, 
And wraps the world in amber mist. 

A new fresh world it seems to-night, 
Untouched by any thought of woe ; 

I stand alone, and from my height 
Watch the clear colorings come and go — 

On village spires silvery white, 

On windows touched to ruddy glow, 

On nearer stream that glistens bright 
Along its winding shadow flow. 

How calm it is, and yet in truth, 
One hour ago a wild storm swept 

These hills and valleys ; whilst in ruth 
The world was bowed — the heavens wept. 



12 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

But now what change ! The golden mist 
Creeps over hill and sky again ; 

These smiling valleys, sunset kissed, 
Catch God's '' Clear shining after rain." 

So sends He storm to every heart ; 

No perfect peace but comes thro' pain : 
We can but calmly take our part, 

And wait '' Clear shining after rain." 



Sonnet. 13 



Sonnet 

ON browning's ^' SAUL." 

thou, who see'st with the larger sight ! 
G-reat poet, who in '^Saul" hast imaged 

clear 
The verities of life, and brought more near 
The purposes of God ! We hail thy might, 
And take in its effulgence of new light. 
Thy eucharistic teachings. Pain grows 

dear 
For peace that may o'ertop it, and all fear 
Dawns into hope, dispersing earthly night ! 

So clear it seems with thee, this larger hope ! 
The mastery attained, (tho' unattained). 
By man's mere striving to his soul's full 

scope 
For highest good. All near perfection 

gained 
Through seeming evil— evil wrought above 
Our human thought by God's Incarnate 

Love. 



14 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



So much, so much, we cannot understand ! 

So much that leaves the heart unsatisfied ! 
Oft-times we turn beneath God's chast'ning 
hand, 

And in the passion of our human pride, 
Feel that our mighty Maker is unkind, 
Because we cannot see — our eyes are blind ! 

We cannot see why we should suffer so. 
Who have not deeply sinned nor gone 
astray. 
blinded eyes, how can we rightly know 
How far we wander from the blessed 
way ! 

Our finite vision cannot see above us 

The stretching shade of the Almighty 
wing; 
We cannot know how truly God doth love 
us, 
Nor how He strives from pain His peace 
to bring. 



Blind Eyes. 15 

We cannot know because our eyes are blind ; 

We turn away from His anointing hand, 
And, groping, seek that we can never find, 

Until, in perfect peace, we calmly stand 
Content to wait till we shall plainly see 
In the new light of an eternity. 



i6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Hnotnte^♦ 

Hour after hour in darkness and alone, 
A sightless beggar at the Temple gate, 
With palm out-stretched for pittance, 

doomed I wait : 
The multitudes pass by, nor seem to own 
My presence by one word — no gifts atone 
For the long loneness of my exiled state ; 
No comfort comes from dull priest's idle 

prate, 
My heart rings back unanswering as a 

stone. 

But lo, close by my side a footstep sounds ! 

Cool fingers on my eyelids — all the place 

Goes reeling with the sense of life set free ! 

And in that wak'ning glory where new 
bounds 

Seem wrought for darkness, looms one liv- 
ing face ! 

Now, Master, Lord, my Lord ! I see ! I 
see ! ! 



The Way of Life. 17 



AN ALLEGORY. 



She had come back to the home of her 
childhood — to the Httle cottage on the cliff 
that overlooked the sea. The walls were dis- 
colored and the windows glared out with no 
look of recognition in them, like the eyes of 
a man long dead — as her father's eyes had 
looked that awful day when they found him 
on the sands after the devastation of the 
storm. The little child that clung to her 
skirts whimpered for the accustomed hand, 
but no look of answer wakened in the face. 
She was remembering ! For the moment, 
the child was as though it had never been — 
the struggle, the suffering, the cost ! From 
the salt marshes below came that indescrib- 
able breath which brought with it the sense 
of a past purity and peace, and the lack of 
the knowledge of good and evil. Again life 
was all sea color and sky line — long glints of 



1 8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

sunlight across the sands ; and there were 
no storms to be feared but the devastation 
of the flood. Oh, God ! oh, God ! ! 

The mist came up and with it the chill of 
the sea. The child's voice rang out impera- 
tive as Fate. The woman lifted it from the 
cold rocks and warmed it in her bosom and 
it was comforted. The wind came up and 
blew across the sands — there was the sound 
of rain in it as the human voice sometimes 
carries the sound of tears. Her mother's 
voice ! Ah, God is good and death is merci- 
ful ! What could her mother have said ? 
Then once again the child, attesting its in- 
dividuality, crooned and cooed, and, to the 
woman, the past was not and the future was 
swept away and the present wore but one 
ineffable phase — Motherhood ! And she 
ministered to the wants of the child. 

The clouds swept by under the stress of 
the wind, and the moon peered out as from 
cavernous recesses, and the sea for a moment 
was illumined. Then a dark shadow came 
noiselessly creeping along the slippery rocks 
of the path — a shadow that wrought itself and 
was lost in the figure of a man. Up the un- 
accustomed path, toiling with whisper of re- 
proach at every step, the figure of a man. 



The Way of Life. 19 

The moon came out and shone upon the sea 
and upon the rocks, and the woman, with 
that burden of warmth at her bosom, felt, 
through the clouds of shame and of darkness, 
the promise of the coming of peace. Peace! 
Peace ! ! 

And yet, would she forget ? A voice 
sounds suddenly. Not now the voice of the 
wind nor echo of the voice of the dead — the 
voice of a man — passionate, low — with the 
sound of pleading, the music of memory in it. 

" I have come from the ends of the earth ! 
I could not abide. I love you ! I love 
you ! ! " How is it with the woman now ? 
Where is that cry for peace ? Far in the 
distance from some forest, comes the cry of 
a wild thing — trapped it maybe — hunger- 
smitten. 

Again that voice: ''How long! How 
long ! ! I have supped of the cup of sorrow, 
I have drunken the dregs of remorse. I love 
you ! I love you ! ! I am not hers, I am 
yours — yours." Then the child stirred at 
the woman's breast, and she stood there in 
the shadow of the home of her innocence ; 
and her voice was as the voice of one who 
has overcome. 

*' I have supped of the cup of sorrow," she 



20 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

said. "I have drunken the dregs! And 
they that have charge of the wine-press have 
meted out to me my portion." 

The man drew nearer and his voice was as 
the voice of one who pleads for his soul. 
^^ I love you and you only," he cried. And 
the woman through every fiber of her being 
felt that call to her inheritance. Again the 
child stirred. 

'^Go!" said the woman. ^^You have 
loved me to my destruction ; but your child 
— spare the flesh that is your own." 

And the man, as one wakened from a 
dream, held out his arms pleading still ; but 
the woman said : " Go ! " 

And he went. And the light of the moon 
upon his face revealed it as it were the face 
of one in whom is fought a great fight — good 
with evil. And the woman watched him as 
he staggered down the long path and lost 
himself in the darkness of the rocks. And 
her face was as the face of one who is cruci- 
fied. 

II. ) 

All day the clouds had lain as beasts that 
crouch ominously, and the sea was, as I'i 
were, molten brass, and the odor of burning 



The Way of Life. 21 

was in the air from the fallows below the 
cliff. And the fisherman's wife watched at 
the door of her cottage, for she was sore 
afraid ; and the voice of the sea prophesied 
from afar. 

Night fell and with it the fury of the 
storm ; and the Word of God was as it had 
never been spoken, for darkness was upon 
the face of the deep. The sea lashed in fury 
against the cliffs and covered the rocks with 
the foam of it anguish. 

Up the slippery steep, shadowless and 
alone, strove the figure of a man ; up the 
accustomed path, with murmur of reproach 
at every step, the figure of a man. The 
drench of the brine was in his garments and 
on his head, but in his face was the waken- 
ing of the light of the newness of hope. For 
lo, through the darkness of the night a 
beacon gleamed and illumined the rocks and 
the sea. And the light was the light of a 
casement shining afar from the cliffs, and 
the window was the window of home — 
home ! 

And the man stood at the casement and 
cried from without. And a woman walked 
in the silence of the room and a child hushed 
at her breast. And the light that shone in 



22 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

the face of the woman was the light of the 
glory of her strength, for the babe sucked 
and was satisfied. And hope grew strong in 
the heart of the man and he cried again from 
without. And the ears of the woman were 
opened and she heard ; for the voice was the 
voice of one for whom she had waited. 

^^ I have come from the ends of the earth, 
I could not abide. I love you ! I love 
you ! ! " And the woman heeded and hast- 
ened and loosed the fastenings of the door. 
But the man halted upon the threshold, for 
the smirch of the world was upon his gar- 
ments, and the face of the woman shone as 
it were with the shining of the hosts. But 
the woman reached forth her hand and drew 
the man to her hearth, for she was the wife 
of his bosom ; and her faith had not yet de- 
parted from her. And she gave him of the 
warmth of her fire and of the richness of her 
larder and stinted not. And he feasted for 
he was an-hungered, and warmed him for he 
was a-cold. 

And the woman questioned not but re- 
joiced, for her faith was strong within her 
and forgiveness was in her heart. And 
without beat the fury of the storm. 

*'I have supped of the cup of sorrow," he 



The Way of Life. 23 

cried, ''I have drunken the dregs of remorse. 
I love you and you only ! " 

And the woman wept for she was glad. 
And from her was withheld the knowledge 
of the tree of good and of evil. 

III. 

There was rejoicing in the Depths, for a 
man had sinned— a grievous sin. There was 
music in Pandemonium and all the satellites 
of Hell sang together in the' pitchy darkness 
of night, and the smoke of the place rose up 
and shut out the vision of the stars of 
Heaven from the sight of the man. And 
the man laughed and the sound of his 
laughter echoed from afar off and the clamor 
of the angels of darkness was, for a moment, 
stilled. 

And the sun of his hopes shone on the eyes 
of the man and he saw not that the stars of 
Heaven were dulled. And all the way was 
lighted by lights contrived by the hand of 
man, and there was music and dancing and 
the rich sparkle of wine. There was a 
rustle of garments heavy with the richest 
woof of the lands ; there were eyes that 
sparkled and lips that burned and hands that 



24 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

held out the wine of the dregs of life. And 
the man drank and was still a-thirst, and 
drank again and thirsted. And yet again 
he drank, and the wine had grown bitter to 
his taste, and the kisses that burned were as 
Dead-Sea apples — ashes upon his lips. 

Then it was that the man reached out his 
hands in the darkness of the way and cried 
piteously. And one heard and answered, 
and her feet made haste to compass the way 
of the desert. And the man stretched forth 
his hand and in it was the cup of the dregs 
of life. And the woman drank, for she knew 
not of the poison of the cup. Then the man 
cursed, and the eyes of the woman were 
opened and she fled. And the man followed 
calling piteously, for he walked in a dreary 
waste alone, and the sepulchers rose up 
whited in the darkness, and the odor of the 
tomb was in his nostrils, and the light of the 
stars of Heaven had been quenched. Yet 
still once more he sinned grievously and his 
body was as it were upon a rack tortured, 
and the fever of the wine of the dregs of life 
was in his blood. Then it was that he cried 
out in the anguish of his soul and knew not 
whither to his feet should turn. For the 
sands were as piercing glass beneath his 



The Way of Life. 25 

tread, and he hungered and there were no 
fruits, and he thirsted but there was no 
drink. 

Then suddenly were his eyes, as at a 
touch, anointed ; and the smoke from the 
depths of the darkness of Hell dimmed, then 
blew about as by a great wind fiercely ; and 
behold he saw a vision, afar off, a height, 
and upon the height a woman standing. 
And the garments of the woman were as the 
garments of a virgin, and the glory of her 
face was as the purity of the face of a saint. 

And again the man cried out piteously — 
and the woman stretched forth her hand and 
smiled. And the man made haste and the 
piercing of sands was no longer under his 
feet, for the glory of the stars had wakened. 
And again he thirsted, and in the hands of 
the woman behold, a cup ; and in the cup, 
water from the depths of the springs of life. 
And the man fainted, for the way had been 
long, but the woman warmed him in her 
bosom, for she knew not of the curse of the 
leprosy of sin. 

So the man revived, and he drank of the 
cup that was in the hands of the woman, and 
the water from the depths of the springs of 
life entered into his soul ; and the glory was 



26 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

as the glory of a new birth. And the clamor 
of the hosts of the Spirits of Darkness was 
stilled ; and the smoke of the furnace of fire 
cleared as by a mighty wind, and from the 
awakened glory of the Heavens a voice — as 
it were the sounding ef many waters ! 

And the voice cried : ' ' Eepent thou, and 
Live ! " 

And the man repented. And the flame of 
cleansing wrought as a finer's fire from 
within, and his face was as the face of one 
who is transfigured. 

Then the woman rejoiced, for from her 
was withheld the knowledge of the tree of 
good and of evil. 



On Gloucester Shores. 27 



ON GLOUCESTER SHORES. 



B^ Summer Seas* 

These are the sultry summer days, 
When blue sea deepens in the mist 
To shadow'd gleam of amethyst ; 
And winds are still and surf beats low, 
And burning sun wakes yellow glow 

Along low-lying banks of haze. 

These are the sultry summer days, 

When winds are still, and shim'ring heat 
Glows palpitant and seems to beat 
Along the shore line like a heart : 
And loss and toil and pain seem part 

Of some sad world beyond the haze. 



28 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl, 



II. 
mv mintet Seas. 

(At Eastern Point, Cape Ann.) 

I STAND upon the shore, 

And watch the waves all hoar 
Come whit'ning o'er a leaden-colored sea ; 

I watch the low clouds drifting, 

I long to see them lifting, 
But, in my heart, I know it cannot be. 

The piercing winds come blowing ; 

Far out to sea 'tis snowing, 
And soon, I know, the storm must reach the 
land. 

But still, in patience, waiting 

The coming and abating. 
Safe in the cleft of one firm rock, I stand. 

The wild storm beats around me, 
The raging winds surround me, 

My weary heart is chilled almost to doubt ; 
But suddenly uprising. 
There comes a thing surprising : 

A warmth of glory floods within, without, 



On Gloucester Shores. 29 

The somber clouds have lifted, 
And where the wild foam drifted, 

The glory of the sunset fills the sea ; 
And with its promise tender, 
The quick'ning, purple splendor 

Fills all the storm with gladness, now, for me. 

For I in peace have w^aited. 

Until the storm abated, 
And God has sent His smile across the land ; 

While, flashing thro' the clearness, 

Comes the sweet sense of nearness, 
The comfort in the pressure of God's hand. 



30 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



LOVE— HUMAN AND DIVINE. 

I. 

IRew Morl^a 

How small a compass holds a world in span ! 
One look, one touch, one space where two 

souls meet 
In one quick flash of glory, and complete 
A new world is ! A strange new world, yet 

man 
Goes treading it where scarcely angels can, 
Straight up to God, assured, unwav'ring, 

fleet ; 
So love makes worlds, inhabited, complete 
At the first moment, after love's own plan. 

And thou, who read'st so well the guiding 
chart, 
Hast found thy world ! Oh, harbored soul, 
explore 
Beyond these sunny shores that seem 
divine, 



Love— Human and Divine. 31 

And, piloted thro' all this life's sure part 
Of storm and fear — on heights ne'er 
dreamed before, 
Find heaven's self in this new world of 
thine. 



32 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



II. 

IRevelation* 

Eternal love laps round us like a sea, 
Changeless, against the rocky coast of 

years ; 
Past now all doubts that could be and all 
fears — 
Immeasurable — save that it, too, must be 
A while circumf'renced by life's destiny — 
(Grief's blinding mist, the dark'ning blur 

of tears) 
And we, whose earthly vision never clears 
The marge of time, must wait eternity. 

Then we, past human barriers of mind. 
No longer thro' a glass all darkly stained, 
Shall gaze reanimate to open sight ; 
And in that wak'ning vision, love shall find 
Its absolute expression — unconstrained 
In Love's own full apocalypse of light. 



Peace at Evening. 33 



peace at iBvcninQ. 

(Written for and published by George W. Cable.) , 

The day had closed in gloom had not my 
eyes 

Beheld the last wild roses of the skies, 

Scattering their crimson petals one by one, 
Warm with the parting kisses of the sun 

Into the sweet calm bosom of the night. 

While, slowly deepening, the soft evening 
mist 

Through many colors changed to amethyst, 

Until it seemed, last of that wondrous list, 
The twelfth gem of the holy-city wall. 
Seen in John's mystic vision, had let fall 

Some faint ray of its glory on my sight. 

It passed, and all my fretted soul's demand 
Passed, too. Then, as a brooding mother 

might, 
God, with the gentle hollow of His hand. 

Smoothed the close folded coverlid of night, 
Above the still form of His dreaming land. 
3 



34 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



(3o^, tbe poet 

For us, the Poem of this world, God wrote ! 
The blank verse of the heavens, the remote 
And awful rhythmic measures of the sea ; 
All Nature's discords wrought to harmony. 

His brooks that run instinctively in rhyme, 
His leafy boughs that beat accordant time, 
His rolling seas, His hills and plains of 

verse ; 
His rhythmic stars that still in song re- 
hearse 
The Epic of Creation— these indeed, 
In God's own language, teach our human 
need. 

Our need of Him. 



Sonnet. 35 



%onnct 

TO MY MOTHER. 

(Died, October 14th, 1898.) 

When I shall see your dear, dear face again, 
Shall feel your touch and look into your 

eyes; 
Trembling with a quick rapture, half 
surprise, 
That I so long without you could remain : 
When all is over — waiting and the pain 
Of your long absence. When, at your 

voice, skies 
Smile into summer though death's winter 
lies 
Knee-deep about me — when we meet again ! 

Oh, when we meet again ! I must repeat 
The glad new song that ever, in my heart, 
Keeps up its cadence with this one re- 
frain. 
When we shall meet ! I feel the message 
sweet 



36 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

As birds do sunshine when the clouds 
depart, 
And God sends peace — ' ^ Clear shining 
after rain." 

But when 
I look upon that longed-for face again, 
It will be glorified ! 
The same dear face, I hope, 
Yet so uplifted from its earthly scope, 

I shall behold 
His image in it, and a thousandfold 
Be satisfied. 



Three Sonnets on Life. 37 



XTbree Sonnets on %itc. 
I. 

Could we but stand beside Death's gate, and 

ask 
Of each outcoming traveler, What is life ? 
Could we but question each one when the 

strife 
Of this world ended. Could we take to task 
All human kind, and see them when the 

mask 
Was falling from each face with thought 

still rife ; 
The father, son and husband, mother, 

wife ! — 
Whal answers might we gain, could we but 

ask ! 
And what is life ? We stand at first and 

gaze ; 
The early morn is passed — the day begun — 
The busy forenoon of our heated day ; 
We venture forth upon the trodden ways. 



38 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Noon comes and passes by — low sinks the 

sun! 
And we, 'mong evening shadows, stand and 

pray. 



II. 



We question oft, with sad, rebellious heart, 

Why God gives life at all ; since life is 
fraught 

With so much suffering — with so much dear- 
bought 

And bootless understanding. Friends must 
part. 

And lovers, as in all time, feel the smart 

Of this world's sad experience. Love un- 
sought 

Must waste its wealth in silence, whilst all 
thought, 

Turning to past delight, makes sad the heart. 

But life is more than love, and more than 
loss ; 

Immeasurable deep good we cannot see 

Ofttimes is wrought thro' ministry of pain ; 

And we who hope beyond life's heavy cross. 

Find in the vast thought of Eternity 

No useless strife — no battle fou^iit in t ain. 



Three Sonnets on Life. 39 



III. 

A LITTLE brook goes babbling gently by, 
The summer winds above its green banks 

blow, 
No shadows in its shallow waters show ; 
The summer clouds above it seem so high. 
But hush ! with sudden change of melody, 
The same stream widens and, in gradual 

flow. 
Brook, deepening stream and river, as they 

grow. 
Are lost in wideness — and the sea is nigh. 
Oh ! trite comparison, so full of truth — 
So full of life's deep meaning now to me ! 
Childhood's unshadowed brook — the stream 

of youth — 
Man's strife and woman's love swept toward 

the sea — 
The mighty river of life's latest ruth ; 
All lost in wideness — Heaven's Eternity. 



40 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



XTbe mnattatnable* 

The clear stars burn along the heavens to- 
night, 

In wak'ning radiance flaming fire on fire ; 

Too low for Heaven, too high for earth's 
desire, 

They lead, expectant, on the human sight, 

And leave it yearning still from height to 
height. 



A Woman's Reasoning. 41 



H Moman's IReasonlng* 

Where is thy charm ? My love, I cannot tell ; 
Be thou content to know I love thee well, 

And ask no more. 
A woman loves not as, 'tis said, men do 
For a lip's beauty, for an eye of blue 

Ne'er seen before : 

But for a deeper something in the soul, 
A gift of mastery beyond control, 

All tho't above : 
For an ideal beauty — a deep grace, 
Which, oft indeed, no other one can trace, 

Does woman love. 

So ask me not wherein I find thy charm. 
In answering thee, I might my love disarm — 

I cannot tell ; 
Since from the perfect whole no charm could 

part, 
'Tis for thyself, and only as thou art, 
I love thee well. 



42 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl 



H Moman's Zcavs. 

A woman's tears! All yes, a woman's tears ! 
You, in your manly strength, say, '^ 'Tis 
not much 
That stirs the fountain of her hopes and 
fears — 
A woman weeps e'en at the slightest 
touch." 

And yet, so little do you know, indeed ! 

So little in your own life's stirring part. 
How deep that fountain is, what currents 
feed 
That fountain's troubled source— a 
woman's heart. 

When you are loved, you take it but your 
right. 
Saying, '^ She loves to love me. " Do you 
know 
Aught of that inner heart flood, whose swift 
might 
Sweeps to her eyes their first warm over- 
flow ? 



A Woman's Tears. 43 

Or when you prove, in tenderness, to be 
Not all her love had thought you, do you 
take. 
In chiding to your heart, this comfort, she 
Her tears and prayers will mingle for your 
sake ? 

Or when your child— her hard-earned treas- 
ure — lies 
Safe on the heart that dared for it death's 
fears ! 
But then you would not question if those 
eyes — 
Those weary, wistful eyes — were filled with 
tears. 

Why question you at all ? Her tears are not 
The idle things the-y seem ; they are the 
flow 

Of darkly troubled waters, oft begot 
In hidden depths that you can never know. 

For woman's life is strange— yes, strange 
indeed 
And that which can but little time defer 
The busy schemes of men, demands its 
meed — 
'Tis thought and smiles, 'tis thought and 
tears with her, 



44 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And so she weeps — sometimes she knows not 
why, 
Save that the heart is full ; and God has 
given 
This safeguard for her nature swept too high, 
Lest in its flood-tide should the heart be 
riven. 



Victoria Regina. 45 



IDictoria IRcGina* 

To the memory of the Queen who above all things else 
was the Woman, this sonnet is loyally inscribed. 

Thou who hast felt a nation's heart-tide beat 
Along thine own quick pulses, hear again 
Thy praises rung from out the hearts of 

men ! 
(Soul cadenced as when guardian angels 

greet, 
Dust still of heavenly pavements on their 

feet 
And clash their harps in passing.) Where or 

when, 
'Mong kings, 'mong queens, mere women or 

mere men, 
Gains not thy long life honor full and sweet ; 
For thou hast timed the pulse of thine own 

heart 
Too truly for discordance — hast known 

pain, 
(Love's pleasure bought) , all woman griefs, 

the smart 



46 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Of bitter loss — swept now to life's rich gain ! 
This side the seas, we, too, would twine with 

green 
Thy many crowns — Wife, Mother, Woman, 

Queen ! 



Decoration Day 1900. 47 



Decoration Dai^ 1900. 

THE OLD AND THE NEW : A TRIBUTE. 

God's messenger with blooms of peace, 
From Heaven's portal floating down, 

Has scattered promise of increase 

Throughout each quiet, fruitful town. 

For May has come and fulled and waned. 
With renewed promise of rich store ; 

While from the lavish gifts we've gained 
Blossoms— and something more. 

A mem'ry of the years passed by 
Wakes in our hearts and blooms again ! 

What ! do we hear the battle-cry ? 
The leader's call, the tramp of men ? 

The thunder of the cannon's roar ? 

The clash of conflict, trumpet's strain ? 
Ah, how the old wounds throb once more 

Beneath their scars with sullen pain. 

As every soldier hears the note 
That thrilled his heart so long ago ; 



48 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And sees, in dream, our banner float 
Where fresher streams of life blood flow. 

'Tis on a newer, farther shore 

He hears once more the old command ; 
And scarred wounds throb no longer sore. 

For North and South march hand in hand. 

The calm that follows after storm, 
The peace of five and thirty years. 

Lies on old Lookout's rugged form 
And stills the fields Potomac nears. 

On Gettysburg the shadows wave, 
The peaceful shadows to and fro ; 

Above each tombless, unknown grave, 
The grasses whisper requiems low. 

Old Chattanooga blooms again, 
The laurel fills the mountain slope ; 

The wild flowers wipe the old red stain, 
And summer fields are fresh with hope. 

The angel of the arts of peace, 

With folded pinions hov'ring down. 

Stands smiling at the long surcease. 
The strifeless srrowth of field and town. 



fc.' 



When, suddenly, the summons rings ! 
Again the trump to battle calls I 



Decoration Day 1900. 49 

And our furled banner boldly flings 
Its challenge to the hostile walls. 

And once again do widows weep, 

Once more the mother's hope must wane, 

And maids must waiting vigils keep 

While nameless graves grow green again. 

Now, to our soldier-brave each heart 

Its loyal tribute freely gives, 
The years have only eased the smart, 

The glory of the deed still lives. 

For never can our hearts forget 

The struggle, suff'ring, conquest, cost ; 

The deeds that stir the quick blood yet, 
The tales of brave lives nobly lost. 

Yet, not alone the fathers claim 
The off 'rings of our hearts to-day, 

We, too, would crown the sons, the same, 
The later heroes, with our bay. 

Once more the blighting breath of war 
Eolls scourge across our fruitful land ; 

And you, brave ones with many a scar, 
Who met the Demon hand to hand ; 

You husbandmen, who gladly beat 
The idle plowshare to a sword ; 

4 



5o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And let the call of country cheat 
The sickle of its golden hoard ; 

Ah, you who dared the soldier's doom, 
Who won for us the victor's palm, 

Know best how bitter was the bloom 
That bro't so long the fruits of calm. 

So to the father and the son 

Alike, we thankful tribute bring ; 

To one as both, to both as one, 
This praise we give, this song we sing. 

For never can our hearts forget 

The struggle, suff'ring, conquest, cost ; 

The deeds of heroes living yet, 

The tales of brave lives nobly lost ! 



A Sea View. 51 



H Sea Dtew» 

AT COMING ON OF NIGHT. 

Now, from behind the farthest rock that 

drips 
With green sea-brine, a purple shadow 
slips — 
Another ^nd another come to be 
Part of the night, till lost in density, 
Sea, sky and shadow are immensity — 

And face to face is He who rules the 
sea ! 



52 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Yet satisfied ? — Ah no ! 

Forever longing for some good beyond ; 

Forever waiting, with high hopes and fond, 
For some great overflow 
Of this earth's bounty slow. 

Not satisfied ? — not yet ! 

With what earth gives, however full the 
gift; 

We cannot yet our weary souls uplift 
From all this pain and fret 
That earth's best gifts beget. 

Not satisfied with all ! 
A longing still in every heart doth live, 
A longing for some good Fate will not 
give — 

A good that renders small 
What fullest wealth men call. 

Not satisfied ! O Lord ! 
Wreak not Thy vengeance on us while we 
wait. 



Unsatisfied. 53 

Nor while we seem to loiter, being late ; 
For we at last have heard 
The mandate in Thy word. 

No more unsatisfied ! 

We come, O Lord ! and while Thou dost 

control, 
From chastened hearts, we feel the yearn- 
ing roll — 

Forgetting earthly pride 
Self being crucified. 



54 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



^*1Re Being DeaO, mt Speaftetb/* 

To the memory of Prophet. 

From age to age has God sent Prophet souls 
To meet with answering truth, the world's 

desire ; 
Whose lips have felt in sacramental fire 
The burning of the sacred altar coals, 
And leaped to ambient flame. In churchly 
stoles. 
In poet's garb, in commonest attire. 
These men have walked and let the 
heavenly fire 
Burn out to other's good — 

—The death knell tolls ! 

Then, suddenly the world, awakening, cries, 
With throbbing heart against th' insensate 
clay: 
'* Oh might I look into my Prophet's eyes, 
And hear his voice once more lead on the 
way ! " 
Thus, even as they call, with meanings new, 
His old words flash — death seals our Pro- 
phet true. 



Easter Hymn. 55 



faster Ib^mn. 

Blest is the day that gave Thee birth, O 

Lord ! 
Blest is the day that unto this sad earth 
Gave Thee, a helpless babe — Incarnate 

Word— 
The fruit of woman's anguish. To humanity 
Gave Thee in flesh — Thou twofold mystery, 

Son of God ! 

Blest, too, that day which on the cross, 

Lord ! 
Saw Thee uplifted — saw the seeming loss 
Which was earth's gain — when of Thine own 

accord, 
Thou didst give up Thy life in weary pain, 
Opening Thy lips in blessings once again, 

Thou Son of God ! 

But far more blessed seems this day, Lord ! 
This joyous Easter, when, in new array, 
Thou art uprisen — when, Thy story heard 
Makes every heart a newer life to feel ; 
When even Nature, wakening, doth reveal 
Thee, Son of God ! 



56 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

When Nature doth with newer bloom, O 
Lord! 

Bring from the depths of winter's hoary- 
tomb 

An after-type of Thee — when in accord 

All hearts lift up their hymn of praise to 
Thee, 

Thou risen One — hope of eternity, 
O Son of God ! 

Blest is the day when Thou didst rise, O 

Lord ! 
Thy sad atonement done — when with glad 

eyes 
Thy true disciples saw what they had heard 
From Thine own lips — saw Thy celestial 

birth. 
Saw Thee above the mightiest kings of earth, 
The Son of God I 



Friends Passed Away. 57 



ffrien^s passed Hwap» 

Friends passed away forever from our sight, 
Dear friends that loved us once — oh, deep 

delight ! 
To feel they love us still beyond the night. 

Beyond the darkness and the night of pain, 
Where morning dawns eternal, will they 

wait 
Sometime, we know, beside the swinging 
gate. 
To greet us with the old sweet smile again. 

Beyond the darkness and the night of death. 
In the eternal dawning, with glad song. 
Sometime we hope to join the happy 
throng. 
And find the dear friends we have missed so 
long. 

Friends passed away forever from our sight, 
Dear friends that loved us once — oh, deep 

delight ! 
To know they love us still beyond the night. 



58 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



3B^ tbe *'Wec^ t^ool'' of /IDp Cbtlbboob. 

(On the little Conewango.) 

Far seen thro' woodland shadows cool and 
deep, 

In the perpetual evening imaged there, 
The tranced waters ever seem to sleep, 

Lulled by the spirit music of the air. 
So calm ! so quiet ! All the place doth seem 

Lost in the languor of eternal dream ! 



Three Quatrains on Poetry. 59 



Ubree (Quatrains on poetry. 



I. 



There is no tphere, inhabited, untrod— 
No reahn but doth to poetry belong : 

In universal poem writ by God, 

World answers world from out the deeps 
of song. 



II. 



True poetry springs but from poet's heart ; 
This great world's tribulation and its woe. 
All human joys— the bliss of Heaven, in 
part, 
To round his perfect work, should poet 
know. 

III. 

The world seems dark— life's deep'ning 
shadows fall, 
The soul is desolate, the heart forlorn ; 
When, suddenly, forth sounds the poet's 
call ! 
Soul touches soul and anew world is born. 



6o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



lEastet /iDorntng* 

"CHRIST IS RISEN." 

MELANCHOLY bells ! let no sound linger 
Within thy throats — no hallelnjah note ! 
For Christ is dead — is dead upon the 
cross ! 
See, how from palm and pale outstretching 
finger 
Drip crimson drops, and where the scoffers 
smote, 
Deep crimson bars His riven breast em- 
boss. 

See, how His head in lonely anguish droop- 
ing 

On that pierced bosom, riven for our sake. 
Hangs low, as still in benediction stooping. 

One last rich blessing on His foes to make. 

See, how the purple shades are softly steal- 
ing 



Easter Morning. 6i 

'Eound speechless lips and straining lids 
that rise, 
In human weakness wistful and appeal- 
ing, 

Half drawn above those Heaven-behold- 
ing eyes. 

But hark, oh hark ! what glorious music 
now 
The trumpet winds of early spring are 
bringing ! 
As thousand angels for that thorn-crowned 
brow, 
Were rapturous songs of coronation sing- 



A rapturous music thro' the world is sound- 
ing ; 
Unnumbered voices echoing the name 
Of Him who, far from pain and earthly 
wounding, 
Eeigns in that kingdom whence, for us, 
He came. 

Eing loud, bells ! your hallelujahs high ! 
He hangs no longer on the stained cross, 
For He is risen — risen from His pain ! 



62 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And 'midst the wondrous burst of harmony, 

Let your note sound ! Let all the heavens 
across, 

A thousand bells make music — whilst re- 
frain 

From seraph throats, His praise doth swell 
again ! 



Revelation. 63 



IRevelation^ 

" For He shall give His angels charge over thee to keep 
thee in all thy ways." 

As when, fresh from Heavenly altar coals, 
Charged angel censers, flashed across the 

dark 
Of human doubt, send the enkindling 
spark 
Keen-edged with burning into latent souls. 



64 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



XTbro' all TLhc Ba^* 

In early morning, Mother, thou art with 
me ; 
In that first solemn hour of early morn — 
In that deep hush when dearest dreams 
are born, 
'Tween sleep and waking, Mother, thou art 
with me. 

And all the day, in memory, thou art with 
me. 
Thy loved tones sound in each familiar 

word : 
And as in old days when I really heard 
And knew thee present. Mother, thou art 
with me. 

And still at night— in the sweet calm of 
evening, 
Longing, I ask of God one precious boon ; 
That thou, too, mayst remember morn and 
noon. 
And hold me thine in the blest calm of even- 
ing. 



Songs of Chivalry. 65 



SONGS OF CHIVALRY. 



' Hb^Q Xat)i? at Iber Casement Iblgb* 

My lady at her casement high, 

My lovely lady sits alone ; 
The shadows dark about her lie, 

The night winds softly round her moan. 

Amidst the shadow'd tapestries, 

My lady sits in lonely mood ; 
Beneath her gaze the meadow lies, 

The sparkling stream — the distant wood. 

Beside her casement swinging wide. 

My lovely lady sits in dream ; 
An open volume at her side 

Lies in the moonlight's silver stream. 

She dreams again the stories old, 

That all day long have thrilled her heart ; 
And maidens fair and warriors bold 

Seem of the shadows dim a part. 
5 



66 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

But look ! Along the sparkling stream, 
Thro' wood and meadow stretching wide, 

With clash of arms and helmet's gleam, 
She, dreaming, sees her young knight ride, 

Touched by the moonlight glinting pale, 
She dreams her young knight rides apace; 

She sees the gleaming of his mail, 
The glory of his upturned face. 

Eapt still in dreams of chivalry, 
My lovely lady strains her sight ; 

She leans far out her casement high, 
And sees, in truth, her waiting knight. 

For lo, one form more fair than all, 
More fair to her than any dream, 

Shows dark against the orchard wall ; 
She sees it in the moonlight's gleam. 

Her weary gardener all alone 

Sings some sweet song, half heard, below ; 
She feels the music of his tone, 

She longs the tender words to know. 

With maiden strife her heart doth long ; 

The dewy air comes burdened, sweet ; 
She hears the music of his song. 

She knows he doth her name repeat. 



Songs of Chivalry. (^'J 

She wears a rose upon her breast, 
The faded one he plucked at morn, 

She lifts it up as it were blest, 
And feels new life within her born. 

She dreams no more in moonlight pale : 
The knight has passed beyond her call — 

The shadowy knight in gleaming mail — 
But she doth hold best knight of all, 
The gardener at her orchard wall. 



68 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



II. 
XTbe (Barbener at tns /iDistress' 6ate* 

She sits apart, doth my beloved lady ; 

She sits beside her casement all day 
long, 
Eeading old tales till, from her garden 
shady, 
The long, dark shadows round about her 
throng. 

She reads of knights, of many a gracious 
queen, 
Of courtly deeds that make her young heart 
beat ; 
Of kings who, in their rcyal garments' sheen, 
Bow to some beggar-maid's beguilement 
sweet. 

She reads of pages lonely and forlorn ; 
Of high-bred ladies, pitiless and fair ; 
She feels with grief her tender heart cords 
torn, 
And weeps to know the singer's tale of 
care. 



Songs of Chivalry. 69 

Dreaming, till shadows thro' her chamber 
shady- 
Throng 'round her seat like knightly cour- 
tiers all ; 
For a fair queen is my beloved lady, 
And I am but the page without her wall. 

The humble gardener tending day by day 
Some gorgeous posies for my lady fair ; 

Striving each morn upon her shrine to lay 
Some dew-wet offering, odorous and rare. 

Some lovely lily for her bodice high. 
Some fresh-plucked rose to nestle in her 
hair ; 
Some sacred bloom to catch her bosom's sigh 
And feel its death most perfect resting 
there. 

I am her young page plucking with sad 

song 

The happy flowers, that soon my lady gay 

Will wear upon her white throat all night 

long, 

And in the morning, withered, toss away. 

For merrily this queen will dance to-night. 
To sound of voices tuning sweet and low 



70 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

The tale I dare not utter, some brave knight 
Will whisper in her ear his careless vow : 

While I alone beside the swinging gate, 
Beyond the sound of dance and minstrel's 
call, 

With sealed lips must still in silence wait 
My lady's message at her orchard wall. 

But hark ! I hear a sweet voice speaking low, 
I catch the music of a light footfall ; 

My lady comes ! Ah, would that she might 
know 
The knight who loves her truest one of all. 
Is but the gardener at her orchard wall. 



At the Evening Prayers. 71 



Ht Iber Evening praters* 

(Suggested by the picture of in the Gallery . ) 

O MY Beloved ! shouldst thou come to-night 
Attired in guise celestial, I would bow, 
Not daring yet to gaze upon thy brow 
Or catch the full gleam of thy princely 

might ; 
Only on bended knees would I delight, 
With trembling, down-cast eyelids, thus to 

bow. 
Praying as in some holy place — whilst thou — 
Thou might'st not deem me worthy of thy 

sight. 

But shouldst thou come, sick, lonely, poor 

and cold, 
Stripped of thy kingly pomps — oh, then 

would I, 
By love's own meekness rendered truly bold, 
Upraise thee in my heart of hearts so high. 
Thou ne'er shouldst miss thy crown of kingly 

gold ; 
So would love's jewels other pomps outvie. 



72 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



January, 190U 

Listen, ye Nations ! Rulers contending ! 
Hear ye the Voice — trump of Apocalypse ! 
Dragon of War, from the seas uprising ; 
Clashing of arms and rumor of contest : 
Hear ye, Nations ! 



Winter Twilight. 73 



mintcv Uwtltol3t. 

(Upon the Conewango.) 

All day the snow has fallen on the field 
That skirts the Conewango ; and to-night, 
E'en now at eve, the snowflakes cold and 

white 
Are falling still. In distance, half revealed 
Among the snow-capped willows of the field, 
Lie the chill waters motionless— my sight 
Grows dim in straining to yon farthest Ught 
Where wav'ring shadows up to darkness 

yield. 

And could I pierce beyond those shades, 

would I 
Find aught but meadows whit'ning, fields of 

snow 
And grim, dark woods ? Imagination wades 
Through wider fields than these, and my 

soul's eye 
Still finds monotony. Yet, God, I know 
Sometime Thou wilt reveal beyond the 

shades ! 



74 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



mtnbs of jflDarcb. 

Winds of March, thro' leafless branches 
wailing, 
O'er fields of snow or meadows brown and 
drear ! 
Clouds of March, thro' the deep heavens sail- 
ing, 
When will the winter cease and spring be 
here ? 

Oh, newly wakened waters, slowly throbbing 
With musical, deep pulses, soft and clear ! 

Oh, lonesome woodlands, now forever sob- 
bing, 

When will the winter cease and spring be 
here ? 

So long to wait — so long the heart grows 
weary ! 
Thro' chilling silence strains the w^istful ear; 
No answer comes — the heavens are gray and 
dreary. 
When will the winter cease and spring bQ 
here? 



Beyond the Sunset. 75 



Be^on5 tbe Sunset 

(Eastern Point, Cape Ann.) 

Beyond the shores that bound the realm of 
day, 

With shadows tender ; 
Beyond the hills that verge the evening's 
gray 

With purple splendor : 
Beyond the sunset, on to deeper seas, 

My thoughts go sailing ; 
Beyond the shining floodgates, borne with 
ease, 

Fair winds prevailing. 

Each thought a bark borne on its perilous 
way- 
Unmanned — unguided, 
Save that a path thro' all yon crimson spray 

Has been provided. 
For every thought a winged prayer for thee 

Goes outward sailing ; 
And God will watch that not one lost shall 
be, 

Or unavailing. 



76 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



IDtctor^. 

We glory in our victories. What is victory ? 
We bow down to our heroes. Who are our 
heroes ? 



To him who feels but victory in arms, 
Who knows no victory beyond the flesh, 
We have no message, since the primal truth 
Strikes deeper— holding surest triumph still 
In utter downfall of all human hopes — 
The sheathing of the sword to take the cross 
That brings to fulness in a crown of life : 
Since oft immortal victories have come 
To conquered ones, while yet the conqueror 

stands 
Uncrowned but by mortal — this is life. 



Two Score Years and Ten. 77 



Uwo Score 33ear5 an^ Ucn. 

(Written for a Golden Wedding.) 

A GOLDEN circlet — links inwrought, 
Two-score and ten, with rare design 

To where the meeting clasps have caught, 
Twin-gemmed, a ray of light divine. 

A golden circlet — year on year, 

Two-score and ten of links full fraught 

With life's swift changes, smile and tear ; 
And all the gracious round is wrought 

And clasped with gems — two jewels meet- 
Two marriage mornings, far and near, 

That hold a mimic world complete. 
And round it to a perfect sphere. 

Oh, gold encircled world that lies 

Safe in the hollow of a Hand, 
Where all the Graver's mysteries. 

We need not know nor understand ! 

We look with yearning at the links. 
And pray that many more may be 

Wrought in the circlet, ere time sinks 
Its count of years — eternally. 



78 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



*/IDong Sbabows H)eep» 

(Rondeau.) 

'MoNG shadows deep, the waters flow. 

The darkling waters still and slow ; 
By banks where leafy willows green 
Bend, as in tenderness, to screen 

Heart depths that still more silent grow : 

No harsh winds o'er the waters blow ; 
No gentle breezes whisp'ring low, 
Disturb these silent wells, unseen 

'Mong shadows deep. 

So in thy nature, Love, I know, 
Lie depths of tenderness below 

The sun-touched surface — depths serene ; 

Unruffled calms that only seen 
In times of trouble, warmest show 

'Mong shadows deep. 



Malachi 11. 3. 79 



/IDalacbi 1I1F, 3, 

The will of God, it tries us as silver in the 

fire ; 
And we whose souls are yearning in dross of 

earth's desire, 
Must feel the fiery mandates go searching to 

the heart ; 
Must feel the burning anguish, the cruel, 

bitter smart, 
Before we reach to uses of a purer, richer 

vein; 
The true worth of the metal beneath the 

dross and stain : 
So we who pine in weakness for uses holier, 

higher, 
Know there must come the cleansing of God 

the finer's fire. 
Before we shape in pattern to the grace of 

our desire. 



8o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Xifte to Some Storm^Belateb Mt^. 

Like to some storm-belated bird that lingers 
Far from its mates npon a winter's 

night, 
Beating its tender wings in sad affright ; 
So stands she now with soft, unclasping 
fingers, 
And wistful eyes that, in their strained 

sight, 
Peer far beyond the darkness of the night. 

O wistful eyes, that, in your tender sadness, 

So long have known the ministry of 
tears ! 

gracious mouth that to the heart en- 
dears 
A mournful smile above all youthful glad- 
ness ! 

weary heart, that never leaps with 
fears. 

Nor hopes for joy thro' all the coming 
years ! 



Like to Some Storm-Belated Bird 8i 

Would I might lift, one moment, thy dull 
burden, 
And, with my heart's deep sympathy, 

atone 
For all the sorrows thou hast ever known ; 
Would I might give thee some celestial 
guerdon, 
Some gift of love from the eternal throne 
To fill the dark hours when thou art alone. 
6 



82 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Ube IDision, 

A NEWER REVELATION. 
(1 Corinthians xiii. 12.) 

In massy jewels fit to wall the gate 

That leads to Godhead, lie the clouds to- 
night ! 
In Eevelation of a newer date, 
Just made apocalyptic — light on light 
As John saw gleaming from his Patmos 
height, 
Foundation stones. 

And so that wondrous list — 
Jasper and emerald and chrysolite^ 
Wakens in glory on to amethyst, 
Till all the Patmos vision looms in sight ; 
Then, on a sudden, dull gray mist and 
night ! 



Poems of Early Youth. 83 



poems of ]£arl^ ISotttb : 

" There's rosemary, that's for remembrance" 

Thoughts of the past that rally 
Faster and faster like a flock of sheep 
Down-driven thro' a valle^^ 

Like cool, delicious waters bubbling up 
From unseen springs to the wayfarer's cup ; 
From hidden fountains, musically sweet, 
The waters of Remembrance spring to meet 
My outstretched cup this hour, and brim it 

full 
With memories of the past. 



84 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Hnswet Qong of Sptrtta* 

FOR A FESTIVAL OF MAY. 

We come, we come, 

We come, we come ! 
From dewy bank 

And flowery dell ; 
From marsh-land dank 
And mossy swell, 
We come, we come ! 

From each woodland haunt and lair ; 
All the shadowed places where 
Hamadryads in their play, 
Dance the starry hours away ; 
Foot to foot and hand to hand 
With old ^olus and his band. 

Where 
Dripping Naiads, foamy white. 
Trip their mystic measures light, 
Or, all trembling, quickly hie 
From the wanton Satyr's eye ; 
Hiding where the willows sway 
If he seeks to make his prey. 



Answer Song of Spirits. 85 

Where 
Hyacinthus, turning over, 
Sighs and will not yet recover, 
Though Apollo's kisses now 
On his cheek and on his brow 
On his faded mossy pall. 
All unheeded, warmly fall. 



Where 
In a wooded fastness deep, 
Young Narcissus, in his sleep, 
Striving once again to press 
His own imaged loveliness. 
Sadly dreaming, seeks to rise 
By the brooklet where he lies. 

Where 
Sweet Zephyrus, chosen lover, 
Seeking new gifts to discover 
Fit to bring his queen before ; 
From some hidden honey store 
Heaps a yellow fern leaf up. 
Fills with dew his wind-flower cup, 
And with Flora on a hill 
Or beside a loosed rill. 
Feasts until the sun is set, 
And his wings are limp and wet. 



86 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Spirits of these haunts are we, 
Filled with spring-time mirth and glee. 
So blithely now, 

We come, we come ! 
From dewy bank, 

And flowery dell, 
From marsh-land dank, 
And mossy cell, 
We come, we come ! 



April. 87 



HpriL 

The red-winged blackbird's liquid note 
From alder-bush by brook remote ; 
The red-brown col'ring of the trees, 
The bitter sweetness of the breeze ; 
All things conspire to let us know 
Of summer's coming, sure but slow, 
!Now April's here. 



88 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Hftet Barft* 

O FIRST delicious nights of early spring ! 

When the warm dews are falling — when the 
air, 

Pregnant with subtile perfume everywhere, 

Seems some faint wave from Araby to 
bring : 

When meadow, pasture, woodlands whisper- 
ing, 

Are warm with their new verdure — when 
the bare 

Brown, stubbly fields, of fresh green, take 
their share 

Upon the wet banks of each bubbling spring. 

O fresh delights of the fast wakening year ! 
To wander in the meadows after dark. 
Catching no sound save where, far distant, 

clear. 
One lone lamb calls— to watch till, spark by 

spark. 
The stars are lighted, and to be alone 
With Him who calls this mystery His own. 



April. 89 



BprtL 

UPON THE BRIDGE THAT SPANS THE CONE- 
WANGO. 

'Tis winter on the meadow white and chill, 
Where Conewango's silent waters flow ; 
'Tis winter on the dull stream— winter still 
Upon the bridge that spans it ; but below, 
(Where the first flush of spring begins to 

show 
Among the catkined willows, warm and 

bright). 
The stream is stirring now, beneath the 

snow, 
Like an awakened spirit ! 

How filled with solemn thought art thou to- 
night, 

my beloved waters ! — longingly, 

1 lean above thee and, with wakening sight. 
Follow thy far, faint shadows till they lie 
So still, so deep, I almost seem to see 
Another world in their calm mystery. 



90 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



irn\>ocation» 

May God bless you, my beloved ! 
In your hour of youthful gladness ; 
When the morning breaks upon you, 
When the dawning light is on you ; 
May God bless you then, 

My dear one ! 
Bless and keep you. 

When the joys of life are dearest, 
When the goal of hope seems nearest ; 
When your heart is newly thrilling, 
All your soul with new hope filling ; 
When the light is deep'ning o'er you, 
With life's tenderest hour before you ; 
May God bless you then. 

And keep you, 
My beloved ! 

May God bless you, my beloved ! 

In the hour of your affliction ; 

When the chills of night surround you, 

When the twilight shades are round you ; 



Invocation. 91 

May God bless you then, 

My dear one ! 
Bless and soothe you. 

When the joys of life are fled, 
When your brightest hopes are dead. 
When no gentle voice is sounding. 
And your heart is sore with wounding ; 
When life's shades are deep'ning round you, 
May God's tenderness surround you ; 
May He bless you then, 

And soothe you, 
My beloved ! 



92 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Summer JBvcning. 

IN THE MEADOWS. 

A TENDER haze is on the hills to-night, 
On the blue, distant hills — and, everywhere, 
A soft'ning glory in the summer air 
Wakens the dull sense to a clearer sight : 

little world 1 with what a calm delight 

1 wander in these meadows cool and fair ; 
Feeling about me the uprising prayer — 
The solemn benediction of the night. 
Sought in the calm midst of this summer 

eve, 
The earth is full of rapture — hill and stream, 
These dew-besprinkled meadows, and the 

dim. 
Far distant woodlands ; e'en the winds that 

grieve, 
With their melodious sadness ever seem 
To join the glad soul in its wordless hymn. 



Induction. 93 



INDUCTION 
Uo an HnttQue MebMng Sowq. 

The sheep are in the pasture and the shep- 
herd's gone away ; 
The sheep are in the pasture all this long, 
bright summer day ; 
And they alone must tarry, 
For the shepherd's gone to marry, 
And he'll not come back till morning ; well- 
a-day, well-a-day ! 

The wedding bells are ringing. 
The Troubadour is singing ; 
The bridal blooms, the daisies 
Delight to frame her praises 
Who walks with him she loveth best to-day. 

There is no thought of sorrow. 
No thought of sad to-morrow. 
For wedding bells are ringing 
The Troubadour is singing 
And she doth walk with her best loved to- 
day. 



94 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

So while the sheep are waiting, and the 
shepherd's far away, 

Come, let us join our voices in a merry- 
roundelay ; 

Let us sing to merry pipes all the long, 
bright summer's day : 
While we alone must tarry 
While young Colin's gone to marry, 

Come, let us sing his praises, well-a-day, 
well-a-day ! 



Two Sonnets. 95 



TWO SONNETS. 

I. 

H XTbougbt 

When death shall come, I would that it 

might be 
At the calm closing of some afternoon, 
When summer winds, with soft, familiar 

tune, 
Might breathe their last sweet requiem over 

me ; 
When all the twilight's blending mystery- 
Might lull my wearied sense ; when, o'er 

death's swoon, 
(Preluding, chance, some heavenly-cadenced 

boon). 
Might fall the full sweep of earth's harmony 

Oh, I would sink to sleep at eventide. 
Upon a summer evening's twilight hour, 
When flocks are silent and the country side 



96 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Breathes but a soothing stillness — when each 

flower 
And wind and stream sinks to its quiet rest, 
Then would I sink upon my Maker's breast. 



Two Sonnets. 97 



II. 

Mben ir Sball 2)!e» 

When I shall die, I would not my grave be 
Shadow'd by any chilling granite high, 
And overwrought with words ; but I would 

lie, 
If so I may, beneath some forest tree. 
Haunted all day by my loved minstrelsy 
Of birds and whisp'ring winds, that ever seem 
To the rapt sense, like sweet sounds in a 

dream — 
Fragments of some angelic harmony. 

So would I rest close to some loved spot 

where 
Oft on that solemn, silent hour of eve. 
Ere yet the stars have wakened, doth mine 

ear 
Catch a deep cadence thro' the misty air — 
Not wind nor stream, doth my rapt soul 

believe. 
But voice of God by nature echoed near. 
7 



98 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



TWO YOUTHFUL SONGS. 

WRITTEN IN IMITATION. 
I. 

%ovcv'5 Son^, 

THE SHEPHERD BY THE BROOK. 

Oh ! sing of my love ! sing ! sing ! 
All your rapturous praises ring ! 
Come ye Hours, and come ye Graces ; 
All ye nymphs from quiet places — 
Where the shadows shake and shiver, 
Where the green reeds quake and quiver- 
Come, oh come, ye nymphs, and sing 
While you loyal favors bring 
To her, in whose form and face 
Lives all beauty and all grace. 

Now she stands beside the brook, 
Leaning, with enraptured look, 
Where the trembling flecks of light 
Drift around her warm and bright. 



Two Youthful Songs. 99 

And the waters softly press 
All her imaged loveliness, 
As she leans above the stream, 
'Mong the shadows, lost in dream. 

Thro' the shades I see her blushes, 
When the wind amid the rushes, 
Like a voice, echoing near. 
Breathes its cadence to her ear. 

Does she dream as did Narciss, 
Longing her own face to kiss ? 
Is some image visioned there 
To her young eye still more fair ? 

Ah ! her eyes are now uplifting, 
And the love-light thro' them drifting. 
Tells my heart what face she sees 
Pictured there beneath the trees. 

Come, ye Hours, and come, ye Graces 1 
All ye nymphs from quiet places — 
Where the sunbeams shake and shiver, 
Where the rushes quake and quiver. 

Come, oh ! come, ye nymphs, and sing ! 
All your rapt'rous praises ring 
For her, in whose heart and face 
Lives love's beauty and love's grace. 



LofC. 



100 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



II. 
HrcaMan SbepberD's %ovc Som. 

Soft o'er the hills the purple clouds are 
lying ; 
Soft on the stream the sunset's ling'ring 
light 
Drifts into shadow — beautiful in dying 
As newly wakened love is in the eyes of 
my Delight. 

Deep as Love's eyes, with all their love with- 
in them, 
Flows the shadow'd stream beneath my 
longing gaze : 
Deep as her eyes when Love himself would 
win them 
Into sweetest mimicry of his own unf ath- 
omed ways. 

But where is my Love, oh ! where so long 
delaying ? 
So long 'midst the dews of evening chill 
and cold ! 



Two Youthful Songs. loi 

Chance, from her care her willful sheep are 
straying ; 
And she, alone, is seeking to bring them to 
the fold. 

Chance, all unguarded, she alone is calling 
Calling her lost sheep from their perilous 
way : 
Chance, even now, some sorrow is befalling, 
And death itself is making all this loveless, 
long delay. 

Chance, in her wand'rings, some other lad 

hath found her 
Guiding her flocks as in a waking dream : 
Chance, with his charms some other lad hath 

bound her. 
And I am left here love-lorn, piping music to 

the stream. 

Oh I where is my Love, and where so long 
delaying ? 
In pastures of bliss or mountain loneliness ? 
Where is my Love, and wherefore is she 
straying ? 
Quick, quick, oh flowing waters, help my 
longing heart to guess ! 



102 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Soft from the hills the purple shades are 
dying ; 
Soft to my ear sounds a voice low and 
sweet ; 
Swift to my side my Love, my Love comes 
flying— 
Whilst the dark'ning waters thrill in their 
music at our feet. 



Indian Summer. 103 



IfnMan Summer^ 

Bright after-math of summer days ! 

Scant sheaf of sunbeams Hghtly bound 
With flow'ry bands — the glowing rays 
That sunset gives thro' mellow haze 
And amber mist. 



104 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Hn October IRt^bt 

Give me a matchless night ! 

Not such as June but as October gives,. 
When the spirit of summer wakes again, 
And in the soft moonlight, 

Bright, wilful Fancy lives, 
And all of Fancy's reeling, reckless train. 

Give me a night like this 

And I will weave romances fine as mist, 
Or as the vain Arachne's slender bridge, 

Where on, with fairy bliss, 

Oberon, flying kissed 
The loth Titania, deluding midge. 

Let shadows, here and there, 

The glowing whiteness of the moonlight 
bar, 
With blendings such as pearls on velvet 
make. 
And I will boldly swear 
I see Mab's rolling car, 
With all its gilded followers in wake. 



An October Night. 105 

But let tree-tops whisper, 

And straightway will I say, ' ^ Hark, 
Ariel sings ! " 
And, saying, think I hear his lingering note 
Growing fainter, crisper. 
Timed to the whirring wings 
That bear him by safe seated on a mote. 



io6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



I. 

1bat\>est Uime. 

The buskers in the field are heaping high 
Among the shocks great stores of glistening 

gold, 
O'er which each, like a miser stern and old, 
Bends at his task with ever watchful eye : 
While thro' the misty, softly dappled sky, 
One circling swallow, than his mates more 

hold, 
Seeks to complete their summer tale — half 

told 
In the shrill sadness of his own faint cry. 

Now, from the pasture-land, the thistles old 
Send their last floating down to tempt the 

gaze 
Of the tired husker, till again he dreams 
Of things long passed and misty as the cold 
And shapeless fog, that, creeping o'er the 

haze, 
Fiuds him still husking by the faint moon- 
beams. 



Harvest Done. 107 



II. 
Ibarvest Done, 

No longer now the fields and pasture path 
Eing with the voice of reapers. Sharp and 

chill 
Across the stubbly meadows crickets shrill 
Their lonesome music of the after-math : 
While thro' the fields and by deserted path 
I seek what broken grains are clinging still 
To hedge and frost- touched weed— nor take 

it ill 
Some other one more rich abundance hath. 

For when amid the stubble this most shrill, 
Quaint meadow music all is hushed— these 

high, 
Monotonous, sad cricket pipes are still ; 
When frost creeps thro' the pasture like a 

thief, 
Stealing all Nature's jewels — then will I 
Be more than rich with this small gleaner's 

sheaf. 



io8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



TLvccs auD /IDen^ 

How strangely like in life are men and 
trees ! 
See, how yon forest maple bears its part 
In this life's struggle ; and, as fate decrees, 
Pours out its sweetness from a riven heart : 
See how the orchard tree must feel the knife 
Ere it the fullness of its strength can 
know ; 
While all the added richness of its life, 
It to some careful, chast'ning hand must 
owe. 

Thus over men and trees alike is passed 
The pruning knife of God ; and what the' 
strained 

And bleeding boughs are severed, if, at last, 
A richer fruitage to the world is gained. 



Silhouettes. 109 



SILHOUETTES. 
I. 

Mamtng lDillaGe*mar^ at iBvcmnQ. 

Loud, blust'ring winds across the pastures 
sweep, 
The meadows all are silent under snow ; 
The voiceless streams no longer in their 
flow 
Break from the bondage of their icy sleep : 
Far from the drifting woodlands shadow'd 
deep, 
Smooth and untarnished on the vale be- 
low. 
Mid-winter's beauty lies — the glistening 
snow. 
And all things seem their Sabbath peace to 
keep. 

How white it is, and beautiful — this earth! 
Yon far-off village seems enchanted quite, 
Silent between the chill earth and the 
stars ; 



no The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And yet, oh vale, how much of pain hath 

birth 
Within thy seeming quiet this fair 

night — 
How much of tumult thy calm beauty 

mars. 



Silhouettes. m 



II. 
Mbere Minter Silence IRetons. 

No chilling winds thro' the bare branches 
blow, 
Along the frozen brook no breezes play, 
All cold and drifted lies the glist'ning snow 
Within the barren, pathless woods to-day: 
No voice of wind is there — no chirp of bird, 

No rustle even in the stirless air ; 
No sound of life from the chill distance 
heard, 
Mars this one hour of Nature's silent 
prayer. 

So calm it is, the heart seems nearer here 
To its eternal Master's — and a thrill 

As of some mighty Presence hov'ring near, 
Seems all the sense with mystery to fill : 

E'en this deep silence, on the list'ning ear. 
Falls like a music from some finer sphere. 



IT2 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Song. 

Blow, winds, blow ! 
Toss the white snow 
Where she is lying ; 
Blow winds, blow ! 
She'll never know 
Why you are sighing. 

Eain, clouds, rain ! 
You come in vain 

Fresh breezes bringing 
Gone is her pain 
She's well again 

With angels singing. 



Christmas Carol. 113 



Cbristmas CaroL 

Calm was the night, and beautiful the morn, 
When from the east the searching Magi 
came ; 
Calm was the night when Christ, our Lord, 
was born, 
And all the Heavens silenced at His holy- 
name. 
Calm was the night, the Magi came from 
far ; 
Lone in the fields the shepherds left their 
sheep. 
Hast'ning to where, 'neath Bethlehem's 
bright star, 
Earth's glorious Shepherd lay in His 
childish sleep. 

There, in a manger, Christ our Saviour lay, 
On the Virgin's arm, God's celestial Son ; 
Eound about His head shone a heavenly 
ray- 
Spirit, Christ, and Godhead, glorious three 
in one ! 



114 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Guiding the shepherd by divine command, 
Angels, with sweet music, heralded the 
birth. 
Ever with rapt voices th' celestial band 
Told of peace, in heaven, of heavenly peace 
on earth. 

Thus broke the morn of an eternal day, 
Bright with a star that never more shall 
dim ; 
Sweet with a sound thro' all the heavenly 
way, 
Of angel voices rising in a rapt'rous hymn. 
Thus fled the darkness of a ling'ring night. 
Soft, on the hour when Christ our Lord, 
was born, 
All the Heavens waken 'd with a new delight, 
And earth caught the glory thro' silence 
of the morn. 

No sorrow mingled with joy of the night, 
God's mighty host, down drooping from 
above. 
Guarded the manger and, with pinions 
white. 
Shadow'd in His slumber the new-born 
Lord of love. 
No cross was there — no thorny crown of 
pain ; 



Christmas Carol. 



II 



''Peace," sang the heavens, and, with 
sweet accord. 
Earth caught the cadence— echoing again, 
Upon that first calm birth-night of our 
gracious Lord. 

''Peace, peace on earth!" glorious 
Christmas morn ! 
festal birth-time of our gracious King ! 

Let all our hearts take up the peace new- 
born. 

And all our music still with hallelujahs 
ring ! 
0, let our voices join the Heavenly hymn ! 

Whilst like the Magi, hastening, we bring 
Frankincense of love and myrrh of faith to 
Him 
Who on this blessed night was born, our 
Saviour King ! 



i6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



FRAGMENTS OF EARLY VERSE. 
Sbal^espeare'5 Bream ot a f^ib^^nmmcv^ 

There the fairies, by Titania led, 

Fill all the star-lit night with mellow 

song 
And sound of foot and tinkling music 
drawn 
From tiny harp by tiny hand addressed : 

There Oberon comes dancing o'er the green 
In dress as doth a fairy wight beseem ; 
With jingling bells and all his merry 
clan, 

In mimic caper, at this sovereign heel. 



To the Lady Una. n; 



Uo tbe Xa^^ mm. 

IN SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN. 

The cock of dawn is crowing at the gate 
Beneath her chamber window: "Wel- 
come day ! 
Oh lady sweet, awake, awake, 'tis day ! 
Thy young knight's pawing charger will not 
wait : 
Thy plumed knight in all his steel array 
Goes riding from thy presence far away ; 
And thou art sleeping still, so late, so late ! 



ii8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



XTo 



When first your fingers called sweet harmo- 
nies 
In witching prelude from the mystic keys, 

Methought I drowsed in Arcadian vale, 
Listening Pan's call and Syrinx's tender 
wail ; 

Catching, in quickened time, the lively beat 
Of silv'ry timbrels and of Dryads' feet — 

(Such as is famed once to have filled with 

sound 
Each rustic vale and every floweried mound ;) 

But when your fingers deeper soundings 

sought 
And from exquisite cords rare music 

wrought. 

Then caught my heart the strain, to silence 
never, 
But still to echo in its rapturous swell, 
As, taken from its native shore, a shell 

Sounds the deep cadence of the sea forever. 



An Imitation. 119 



Hn irmttatton» 

(A youthful poem composed on the death of a friend.) 

When winter drear has worn away, 
And summer days are come again, 
Then every night upon the glen, 
Then every night the shadow men, 

With ladies trimly dight and gay, 
Will trip to South- wind's roundelay ; 
And, in deep nooks, will garlands lay ; — 
When summer days are come again. 

But tho' the winter wears away 
And summer days do waken then ; 
One footstep ne'er will sound again, 
One voice ne'er will answer when 

I call thro' all the grassy way. 
One shadow, stretching dark and gray, 
The sunny hours will dim for aye ; 
Tho' summer days do come again. 



120 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



TWO POEMS. 

WRITTEN FOR THE OLD SCHOOL — CHAM- 
BERLAIN. 

Class ^ong ot Cbamberlatn, 1 89 1. 

(Air — ' Lauriger Horatius.'*) 

Wake, ye voices of the hills — 

Sweetest echoes rally ! 

Wake, ye slumbrous wind that fills 

Meadow land and valley ! 

Cho. Wake, and bear abroad our song : 
Ere old ties we sever, 
We would swell the chorus strong- 
Chamberlain forever ! 

Spirit of the future years, 

Beck'ning still before us ; 

What know we of boding fears — 

Shadows hov'ring o'er us ! 

Cho. In the present is our song ; 
Ere old ties we sever, 
We would swell the chorus strong- 
Chamberlain forever ! 



Two Poems. 121 

Shall we ever see again 
These familiar faces ? 
God, alone, He knoweth when, 
Knoweth times and places. 
Cho. So we'll sing our parting song : 

Ere old ties we sever, 

We would swell the chorus strong — 

Chamberlain forever ! 

Seal of coming years in store 
We must leave unbroken ; 
Only days now gone before. 
Take we as our token. 
Cho. In the present is our song : 

Ere old ties we sever, 

We would swell the chorus strong — 

Chamberlain forever ! 



122 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Uwo«=Score locate* 

READ AT CHAUTAUQUA, 1892. 

Fresh is the world and green these fields 

again ; 
Green for the fortieth time since summer rain 
And winter snows have darkened these old 

walls. 
Four decades now since these beloved halls 
Have felt the throbbing pulse of youthful 

life ; 
Have wakened to the ardor and the strife 
That dwell in youthful hearts. Ah, two- 
score years ! 
Dost think how full of laughter and of tears — 
How full of broken hopes and silenced fears, 
A human life is at this mark of time ? 

Who has not known some mother, past her 

prime, 
Whose little flock has left her fostering care. 
And gone into the world — some here, some 

there ? 
E'en as this mother still doth watch and wait 



Two-Score Years. 123 

For her loved ones' home-coming, soon or 

late, 
So do I feel our Alma Mater now. 
The snows of many winters on her brow, 
With all a mother's wistful, tender yearning, 
Greets us, her grown-up children, home re- 
turning. 

And we, what do we feel to-night, in truth. 
But love for this fond mother of our youth ? 
But reverent love for her, and for that pair 
Who half of forty years, with fostering care, 
Have fanned in youthful hearts ambition's 

flame, 
Have urged to high endeavor, lofty aim. 
Theirs to uplift the soul, to fill the thought 
With richer, fuller, deeper things not taught 
In learned treatise or in text-book lore. 
And so, as we assemble here once more. 
With our small offerings of prose and rhyme 
To celebrate this anniversary time, 
We, too, would bring our ^^ rosemary'' 

sprays 
In sweet remembrance of our student days, 
To those instructors, who again to-day 
Have watched another class go on its way 
To broader fields of labor. 

Yes, we own, 



124 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

With the same love that we have ever known, 
Allegiance to our teachers of past days. 
Sweet days they were, ay, well-remembered 

days, 
Full of high hopes, of aspirations high — 
Of dreams and visions, and the mystery 
Of newly wakening powers. 
Ah, well do I remember those glad hours 
When came my first full wakening to the 

light. 
When, with a sudden opening of the sight, 

The text-book's page grew luminous, and 

thought 
Took on those deeper colorings, that once 

caught 
Can never fade again. How full life 

grew ! 
Upon a sudden, all the world was new ! 
I read of Trojan wars, and of the Greeks — 
Of Hector and Achilles, and, as speaks 
Friend face to face with friend, I knew them 

all. 
The ten years storming of that city wall, — 
The flight of Paris and fair Helen's fall. 
Ah, wicked Helen — most sweet, wicked 

queen ! 
Teaching the young eyes thus to read between 



Two-Score Years. 125 

Old Virgil's ponderous lines that tale above 
All tales of war — the mystic song of love. 

As one who follows a far winding stream 
And finds himself within some forest, where, 
Far seen through woodland shadows, cool 

and deep, 
In the perpetual evening imaged there, 
The tranced waters ever seem to sleep, 
Lulled by the spirit-music of the air, 
So calm, so quiet, all the place doth seem ; 
Lost in the languor of eternal dream : 
As such an one doth wander, so do I 
To-night along the stream of memory : 
And old familiar voices come again, 
And faces, that to see brings back the pain 
Of earthly partings — hopes and dreams and 

fears ! 

But why pause longer now for dreams or 

tears ? 
The brave realities of two-score years 
Claim our attention. Many years ago. 
While 'mong these hills and in the vales be- 
low. 
The settlers sought, with persevering toil, 
To win new homes from the uncultured soil 
Of this cold Cattaraugus. While they 
wrought, 



126 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

Each felt within himself one good unsought, 
That left his heart sick for New England 

hills. 
Felt that deep love for learning which yet 

fills 
Our New World hearts, and makes our 

country stand 
Foremost, progressive, Liberty's own land. 

Thus with the deep'ning needs came deeper 

yearning 
For all the old familiar forms of learning ; 
With their own growing needs the fathers 

felt 
As did those earlier fathers, when they 

knelt 
First time upon free soil. 
Still uncomplaining with their ceaseless toil, 
The parents foremost held their children's 

good ; 
So on this hill, where yet the tree-stumps 

stood, 
They raised a building — dedicated halls. 
And christened '^ Academic " these new walls. 
No longer now should '' common school "alone 
For loss of eastern privilege atone. 
Still hast'ning on ere yet the ardor cooled 
They called a man in eastern custom schooled. 



Two-Score Years. 127 

A true-born teacher he, whose praises ring 
Upon our parents' lips, sincerely as we sing 
The praises of our doctor. So they came, 
Our parents to these halls — with hopes the 

same 
As we have felt, ambitions, longings, strife 
For higher and for better ways of life. 

Thus passed by twenty years with changes 

rife, 
Then came our teacher and his well-loved 

wife ; 
Preceptor and preceptress of this place 
For twenty years ! Would my words had 

the grace 
Of some old poet's rhyme. 
That I might sing fit praises for this time, 
That I, with gracious song, might fitly tell 
Of student days with them, remembered 

well. 
Not mine alone to sing ! In every dell 
Of all this country-side their children dwell ; 
And on, and out, beyond the farther swell 
Of western prairie — 'mong the eastern 

hills. 
To other lands and climes, with various wills, 
Old Chamberlain has watched her children 

go; 



128 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

And now, borne on in time's unceasing 
flow, 

She numbers forty years of active life. 

Her children, too, are growing old — the strife 

Has whitened heads once young. No time 
is there 

For loit'ring now — work waits us every- 
where. 

With us no time for sadness, vain regret ; 

Our work is in the future, waiting yet. 

We are young still, the day but just begun, 

Before some stretch the dazzling fields un- 
won ; 

Before us all some great life task undone. 

'Tis said the deepest music comes from hearts 
Cast down, and broken 'neath the heaviest 

smarts ; 
E'en as the broken reed alone did give, 
In the Pan-pipe, its deepest notes to live 
And echo through the ages. Life alone 
Is worth the living when it takes its tone 
From higher hopes — ambitions past the plain 
Of earthly joy or of an earthly pain. 

How often have I watched the sunset glow 
Fall on these western windows, whilst the 
slow, 



Two-Score Years. 129 

Majestic beauty of the closing day- 
Crept softly o'er the valley till it lay 
More perfect than at noon-tide. So I hope 
When our life's sun shall reach the western 

slope 
Of its horizon, that its rays ma}^ throw 
Across our years but an intenser glow 
And deep'ning of the noon. We love the past 
But dearer seems the future. Our lot cast 
In this, a world of change, demands its meed 
Of labor on our part — of word and deed, 
And higher thought. Thus only can we 

round 
Our life into a perfect whole, and bound 
With sunrise and with sunset, a full day. 
9 



130 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



FIRST PUBLISHED POEMS. 
Songs anb Sonnets to tbe Seasons* 

To Chloris (Spring). 

So oft hast thou been sung, maid divine ! 
I scarce dare offer you this gift of mine — 
A few fresh flowers, culled by a quiet 

stream. 
Brought here to decorate a well-known 

theme. 
First for the garland, will I bring as't grew, 
A woodland violet all wet with dew, 
Whose saintly eye, too pure for such mad 

bliss, 
Has not yet closed 'neath rude Apollo's kiss. 



The Violet. 131 



Ube Diolet. 

Sweet, tender nymph, and brightest in the 

throng 
That grace the em'rald meadows, and along 
The brooklet's weedy bank dance to the song 
Of oriole and robin and the rest. 
As each loud tunes it from above his nest. 
Eetiring nymph, as gentle and as shy 
E'en as was young Narcissus, when his eye 
Caught the reflection whereunto his love. 
In humble mind, all deep deceit above. 
Sought its confession. 

Fit art thou to frame 
Young Aphrodite's bed, save that to shame 
Thou bringest her sweet eyes, and render 

tame, 
With richer col'ring, all the veins that trace 
Their finest network on her snowy face. 



132 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Ube Danbeliom 

O STURDY rustic ! to what sisterhood 

Of primly nodding maidens, chaste and 

good, 
Dost thou belong ? Yet, answer not ; I 

could 
Unerring place thee : thou so plainly 

speak'st 
Of over-brimming dairy-pails, that leak 
Their foam upon the grassy path and streak 
The budding clover all with white. Thou 

art 
Young Amaryllis, panting with faint heart 
For cooling streams — since thou must ever 

stand 
In sunny fields to watch the patient band 
Of cattle feeding, and at eve to list 
The drowsy tinkle of those bells that whist — 
Then louder sound — then whist again — and 

so 
Keep up, in distant field, their music low. 



To the First-Blown King-Cup. 133 



TLo tbe ifirst^Blown 1kim^Cnx>. 

Thou dainty chalice — beaker over-brimmecl 
With drink — refreshing for such weary- 

limb'd 
And over-heated fairies, fays, and sprites 
As dance 'neath leafy trees these starry 

nights. 
Oft dost thou rest Titania's lips upon, 
Dewing those sweets, which bless King 

Oberon 
With richer gifts so wet by thy sweet 

draught ; 
And choicer nectar ne'er before was quaffed 
Than thou containest. E'en the King him- 
self 
Drops his bright wand and all his simple 

pelf, 
That he may balance at his parched lips 
Thy cooling surface, and with dainty sips 
Drain thy rich store. Aye, e'en Ariel stops 
To taste the flavor of thy crystal drops. 



134 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



TO SUMMER. 

Away, nymphs ! I pray you go your 

way ! 
Chant through the summer woods your 

roundelay, 
Your glad songs : for I alone am weary. 
And in yon fields, where sunshine glints 

seem dreary, 
I'll rest. There Damon works the fresh-cut 

grass, 
That same whereon, with many frisky pass, 
The young elves dance through these short 

summer eves. 
And there, too, he, who in his heart believes, 
May see at noontide, in their humble spot. 
Some baby-wood -gods, fauns of gay deport ; 
Or older-grown satyrs with booted heel. 
That 'neath the burden of their full frocks 

reel. 
And through the partings of their matted 

locks, 
Watch yonder dryads, gay in summer 

frocks. 



To the Wild Strawbeny. 135 



XLo tbe Mtlt) Strawberry, 

Give me, Epicurus, for the satisfaction of my palate, 
tliose luscious, crimson globes plucked by Arcadian 
boys among the green and tender grasses of Arcadian 
meadows. Give me one draught of that rich cream 
drawn from the udders of Arcadian kine— whilst over 
all, let trickle from the hand of some dewy-eyed Arca- 
dian maid that golden store the honey-Queen hath hid- 
den within the hollow trunks of Arcadian forests. 
Then mayst thou taste thy nectar and ambrosia, O 
great but inconstant Zeus !— Youth of Arcadia. 

Young Prophetess, oh! fair art thou, I 

ween, 
As was Cassandra, by Apollo seen 
And loved in olden days— aye, fairer e'en. 
What youth does not adore ?~-since thou 

dost tell 
Of banquetings and all things that so well 
Are greeted— a new Olympian feast— 
Ambrosian fruitage from the sun released 
And cooled in crystal, goblets overbrimmed 
With creamy richness, and all greenly 

trimmed 
By sun-browned Phyllis ; then, too, golden- 
rimmed. 



136 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 

The dainty gift e'en Zeus could not disdain 
Of Queen Melissa's honey-laden train, 
That, trickling down, upheld in Phyllis' 

hands. 
Circles the rubies all with gilded bands. 



Summer Rain. 137 



Summer IRatn* 

Soft, gently falling, intermittent rain ! 
Like a divine baptism, sweet and deep. 
You fall upon the meadowlands and sweep 
The droughty pastures. Like some hallowed 

strain 
Your patt'ring music sounds, and the refrain 
All Nature joins — the freshened brooklets 

leap. 
The trees make music, and their green 
leaves keep 
Sweet praise to Him who sent you, blessed 
rain ! 

No longer now the cattle are asleep 

In the deep shadow of the shelt'ring trees ; 
They, too, are wakened, and in grass knee- 
deep. 
Just lift their heads to catch the fresh'n- 
ing breeze — 
Those voiceful winds that, in their cadence, 
sweep 
From earth to heaven, gl^d Nature's song 
of ease. 



138 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



Dead heavy m the pasture waves the grass, 
The panting herds stand knee-deep in the 

brook ; 
The bees go droning by with drowsy look, 
And sweet sound Hves on all the winds that 

pass — 
Of merry labor in the meadow near ; 
Or clink of whetted scythe now sharp and 

clear, 
Or mower's voice caught by the listening 

ear 
Across some fragrant fields of fresh-cut 

grass. 
The late birds fill with life the hazy air, 
The frightened rabbit scurries through the 

field 
Of new-made stubble to the hidden lair 
Of its unconscious mate. Nature seems 

mad 
With ecstasy of life, and still doth yield 
Up to her lover's heart some token glad, 



To Autumn. 139 



TO AUTUMN. 
Ceres* 

Mother Ceres ! now I bring to thee 
Bright grains and ripened fruits, and from 

the tree 
That skirts the meadow brook, brown nuts 

and leaves 
Of wondrous shadings, yellow as thy 

sheaves ; 
Oh ! wilt accept such humble gift from me, 
Who hast thy granaries full ! Since e'en for 

thee 

1 cannot longer glean, nor, from the field 
That reapers once have stript of all its yield. 
Seek, for my sheaf, stray grains and broken 

straws 
And weedy twinings over-filled with flaws. 
For now the circling swallows glint the sky 
No more, calling their mates with mournful 

cry. 
Even Melissa from the field has gone, 
And I must offer what I have or none. 



140 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



September^ 

MELLOW month ! that like a buxom maid, 
Burdened with ripened fruits, through the 

sere glade, 
O'er wasted fields, and 'neath the hazel tree, 
Makest thy way. Now, almost, can I see 
Thy softly shadowed face, as, with thy lip 
Pursed for the draught thy sunbrowned fin- 
gers tip. 
Thou haltest by the cider-press, in van 
Of swart Hymettus and his buzzing clan. 
Or now, again, as in the reaper's path, 
Thou, like a gleaner of the aftermath, 
Deckest Thy tawny hair until the gleam 
Sets youthful Damon in a tranced dream. 
And makes him think that Marsya's sweet 

tune 
Has called back in thy stead the leaf -crowned 
June. 



To the Swallow (Progne.) 141 



Zo tbe Swallow (iprooneO 

So oft thy sister Philomel has moved 
The heart of poet to his mistress loved, 
In rhyme and mellow madrigal, that I, 
Who watch thy circlings, list thy lonely cry, 
Must sing of thee. Progne ! why dost 

thou 
Depart so soon ? the overhanging hough 
Its leaves has not yet shed ; a clinging vine 
The garden wall still graces, gay and fine. 
Its clusters purpling, mellow as the light 
That deepened Bacchus' eye that time his 

sight 
Upon the Naxian mourner fell. Why ? 
Why ? Nay, I will not ask again, nor sigh 
As last year did I, when, this very time, 
A dearer one than thou sought other clime. 



142 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



XTbistlebown^ 

¥/hite courser of the air, steed fitly dight 

In silver trappings for the pressure light 

Of merry Mab or fair Titania — 

Of Ariel, or even of Oberon, 

Who, with his clan through all the dewy 
night, 

Eevels and dances till Urania 

Warns him, with dimming lights, of Avalon. 

White courser, thou who hast so oft be- 
guiled 

My childish mind to freaks of fancy wild ; 

Who, often on a summer afternoon. 

Hath ta'en me from my schoolroom task 
and borne 

To yonder hilltop, where, 'mid clouds up- 
piled, 

Seemed thine abode. Ah me ! that it so 
soon 

Should fade and leave me at my task for- 
lorn. 



To Winter. 143 



Uo Wiintcv. 

How can I sing of thee this dreary time, 
In such soft measure or sweet-worded rhyme 
As thy fair sisters claim ! Since now are 

fled 
Their birds and bees, the blossoms too are 

dead, 
Wherein the subtile fays, on summer nights, 
Stored their rich liquor. Oh ! the mad de- 
lights 
Of such enchanting draughts thou canst not 

give. 
Though thou, too, hast thy witcheries that 

live 
In starry nights — aye, on such nights as 

this. 
When stately Dian, in a glow, doth kiss 
With her soft beams the crunching snow — 

when sound 
Of far-off house dog or loud bayiTig hound. 
One moment, wakens Fancy from her 

dreams 
Of swaying boughs and softly shadowed 

streams. 



144 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



IFlovember* 
I. 

The wind comes wailing like a voice for- 
lorn 
Thro' frosty meadows tenantless and drear, 
The leafless boughs are grieving, and the 

corn 
Makes no more rustling music to the ear : 
The corn is garnered, and in pastures near, 
The cricket-pipes are silenced one by one — 
The merry cricket-pipings shrill and clear — 
And harvest revels in the fields are done. 

Thou com'st so soon, Autumn, and are 

gone 
So soon, so soon — e'en now the meadow- 
rills 
Catch the dull look of winter ; now at dawn 
The snow-clouds hang above the northern 

hills ; 
Nature her charms to ashen grayness yields, 
And death creeps noiselessly across the fields. 



The First Snowfall. 145 



Ube ffirst SnowtalU 

II. 

The old familiar paths are changed to-day, 
The trees are bare — the leaves go whirling 

by; 

Among the naked branches, chill and high, 
The last faint sunbeams of November play : 
The waters sluggish lie, the fields are gray, 
The pastures silent, only for the cry 
Of some brown-coated winter birds that fly 
From shrub to shrub, along the lonesome 
way. 

Through the gray air fall the first flakes of 

snow, 
From the long-threat'ning clouds in silence 

spilled 
Upon forsaken pastures — cold and drear, 
From lonesome fields, the freezing north 

winds blow ; 

The chill comes like a prophecy fulfilled, 

And winter seems in very presence here. 
10 



146 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 



December* 
III. 

The wind-blown snow is drifting drearily 
Across deserted pastures white and still ; 
The mournful wind comes grieving wearily 
From lonesome woodlands silent now and 

chill ; 
No sign of life nor labor save the shrill, 
Blithe whistle of the herd-boy at his round 
Among the shiv'ring flocks ; or, fainter still, 
Through the keen, frosty air, a ling'ring 

sound 
Of some fast-falling ax. Half frozen 'round 
His summer haunts the rabbit strays ; in 

more 
Than one tree-hollow of the wood, drift 

bound. 
The thrifty squirrel craunches at his store : 
And this is all — no life nor labor more ; 
Nature's numb heart seems frozen to the 

core. 



The Flowers are Dead. 147 



Ube Jflowers are Deab But Ubey Mill 
Xive Hgain* 

IV. 

The flowers are dead, but they will spring 

again ; 
These chilling winds cannot forever sweep 
The dear old haunts, nor, with their raging, 

keep 
In her white shroud the ever-living glen : 
The flowers are dead, but they will waken 

when 
The first delightful pipe of summer's deep 
And thrilling music calls them from their 

sleep, 
To make a summer in all hearts again. 

For God hath made a token of all things 
To them that here beneath some burden 

bow ; 
The perfect bloom that every summer brings 
In all its glory, wears no beauty now. 
Save as the soul that pining feels its wings 
Bound by some bond it bursts and know not 

bow, 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



Writt«ii by ORAOE ADELE PIEttCE. 



Motio by OSCAK A, KNIPE. 






1. There is xuu - eic in the lleav - ens Whore LordJe- sUs sits to- night, 

2. Sing-ing of our niigh- ty Sa - viour ; Thrilliug Je- sua' praise a - gain, 

6. For now a crowu-ed King He is; Th'e - ter-nal hosts a - dore Him 



'^^^m^^m^^^^^ 




And a-roand Him troops of an - - gels Fill the air with new de - light. 

Till their gold- en harps seem burst - ing With the rapt- ure of the strain. 

And, in their meekness, kneel to-night. With rapt'-rous awe be - fore Him; 

m'~ > _ I i /- _ _ J 




Oh hark, the joy - ous note ! 

Oh hark, the glo - rious song! 

With songs of new de - light, 



Where Ser - aphs loud, A - 

Where an - gels still Their 

The an - gel band. On 




"Tis the birth-time of our Saviour, 

Soon will dawQ the Christmas mom 
And the golden harps are sounding 

As they did when Christ Was bom. 
Oh hark, the rapt'rous swell I 
With harps of gold 
The story old 
The angeli still do tell. 



The story of that wondrous night, 

And of the lonely manger, 
Where God's great Son — the Prince of light 

Lay new-bom and a stranger. 
Oh hark, the glorious sound I 
Where angel feet, 
With ceaseless beat, 
Tread Jesus' throne around. 



V iMf by utu« eblHNB m mt»t« nbpnid Ht plwrtt) In tM Z*7 of Pb. 



J&n. 2 7. lPC2, 



JAN 25 1902 



























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